


Because You Need It

by orphan_account



Series: Just Because [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Death Threats, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury, Major Character Injury, Miscarriage, Multi, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 04:25:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11176992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sequel to "Because I can"Something is wrong with Reaper. Widowmaker has an intervention.





	Because You Need It

**Author's Note:**

> I still hate my life right now, but I'm ready to let Reaper start healing, at least. I fucked him up enough in my last fic. I'll give him a little something nice.

It was the fourth time that day that Widowmaker had had to intervene to prevent Reaper from being hurt, or worse.

She charged forwards at full speed, before tackling the dark-clad wraith off of the side of the building, just before Tracer’s pulse bomb could blast him into the wall and likely severely damage his Neural Enhancement System-- the set of batteries on his back that made it possible for the man to feel anything or function from his shoulders down. Then he would have been defenseless, if not dead (though he probably would have been shortly afterwards.)

“ _ Dieux, imbécile! _ ” Widowmaker cursed aloud, getting up off of Reaper’s body, but not before punching him in his side. “Are you  _ trying  _ to kill yourself? You know the Director would--”

“The Director,” he growled in kind, “doesn’t hear a  _ word  _ of this, or I’ll hang you by that damn grappling hook of yours.”

“Not like it would be the first time,” she snapped back, picking up her rifle that she had dropped a few feet away. Even if the threat had held any promise, she wouldn’t have been afraid. Reaper, off the field at least, was a pushover towards her and Sombra. While regular Talon grunts had every right to fear him, she and Sombra did not. “Don’t make me have to babysit you, Reaper. We both know I never wanted children.”

Reaper froze up, before turning away. He gave her no response to that, though his posture seemed uncomfortable. Widowmaker only graced him with a confused glare, before turning and grappling back to a higher vantage point.

Reaper had been… off… for weeks now. Today was especially bad, for reasons she couldn’t begin to fathom. Terrible aim, sloppy tactics, and a constantly distracted demeanor had been leaving him a very vulnerable target. And since the Director liked to play favorites, of  _ course  _ she had to make certain that nothing would happen to him. It wasn’t out of any desire to please the man-- that was impossible. He would find any and every flaw in the execution of a mission, regardless of its success. No, it was more to keep herself from further training and reconditioning. Reaper could rot in hell, if she was given the chance to let him do so without repercussions. However, as it currently stood, she and Sombra were basically tugging him around on a leash while he stumbled and tripped and, occasionally, bled.

Widowmaker resumed her position in her chosen vantage point and refocused her sights on the payload. Today, it was just four Overwatch team members; Tracer, Lucio, Winston, and Soldier: 76.

No one in Talon had known where Soldier: 76 had come from, or who he was, until Sombra came along and cracked the code within just a minute. “Oh, pfff,” she had said, flopping back in her chair. “That was supposed to be a challenge? It’s obviously Jack Morrison.”

While, at the time, all Widowmaker had given was a hum of interest, the air in the room grew considerably colder and stiffer. The two women had turned and found Reaper shaking, most likely with rage. He had turned heel and rushed from the room. Four Talon grunts died that night, and six more were sent to the infirmary. He didn’t leave his room for four days.

Widowmaker set her sights on Soldier: 76, finally having a moment to breathe from Tracer’s insufferable stalking, but a growl on the comms stopped her from pulling the trigger.

“If  _ either  _ of you lays a hand on Morrison,” Reaper snarled, “I will snap your necks while you sleep.”

And that  _ wasn’t  _ an empty promise. Even Widowmaker could feel the chill that ran down her spine. She understood that that Reaper and 76 had held a strong hatred for each other towards the end of their careers as the leaders of Overwatch, but the level of  _ obsessing  _ Reaper did over wanting to be the one who killed the old soldier… it was frankly somewhat disturbing. Even for an emotionless trained killer like herself.

“You know,” Sombra spoke up on her end, sounding like she was invisible from the static of her comms, “I could just hack him for you, Gabe. Make those legs of his shut down so her can’t run, or better yet, if you’ll let me get at his spine--”

“He’s  _ mine! _ ” Reaper barked, loud enough that their communicators crackled, and even the Overwatch members on the ground below looked like they had heard it, if their sudden tension and glancing around was any indicator. “If he attacks you, then fine, but if you  _ kill _ him,  _ you’re next _ .”

“Hush,” Widowmaker commanded, turning her attention to Winston instead. “I’ll incapacitate the monkey. Sombra, set your sights on Lucio; hack him, and disable his music. I will do what I can about Tracer once Winston is down. No doubt the girl will try to follow me. Reaper, that leaves you--”

“I know. Just do it.”

“Just be  _ ready _ ,” she demanded, lining up her shot, and firing.

 

* * *

 

 

“Your failure to act was very disappointing, Reaper,” the Director tutted over the holo-tv, nothing but a hollow, robotic modulated voice and an audio bar that bounced when he spoke. It sounded as if he had a cigar between his teeth, and the sound of a lighter was audible.

Reaper and Widowmaker stood together in the small conference room made solely for the main three agents. Sombra had been gravely wounded by 76, but luckily, the other two managed to get her to safety. They were promptly picked up, the mission considered a failure. Now, both Reaper and Widowmaker were all that were left to take the lecture.

“Care to explain to me what exactly happened out there?”

The wraith of a man went tense. “... a tactical error,” he murmured.

“Details, Reyes.”

Reaper visibly cringed. Widowmaker understood.

“... Widowmaker devised a plan to take out the escorting Overwatch team. She first incapacitated Winston, then in turn, Sombra rushed into the heat of things and hacked Lúcio Correia dos Santo, disabling his healing abilities. While Lena Oxton chased after Widowmaker, I worked to separate Soldier: 76 from the group and to take him down. What we had forgotten to account for was his Biotic Emitters; I lost track of him, which gave him a chance to recover from the injuries I had inflicted on him. As he was re-emerging from his cover, he ran into Sombra, whose invisibility was on cooldown. She attempted to throw a teleporter to escape from him, but he was quicker.”

“So he shot her, because you can’t see straight, Reyes?” The Director’s voice was low and accusing and dangerous.

“No, sir,” Reaper snarled, before toning himself back. “Like I said. Tactical error. It won’t happen again.”

The Director was quiet for a moment-- likely sitting in thought and considering his next words. A chair creaked a little on the other end of the line.

“I understand your history with 76, Reaper.” The return to the codename made the wraith relax. “Some… hesitance… would be natural, if given the opportunity to pull the trigger.”

“I  _ don’t  _ hesitate,” Reaper countered, but the Director spoke over him.

“Which is why I believe that this… possession… you claim over being his killer… is rather unhealthy, and I feel it may be beneficial to our cause if you just drop it altogether. If Widowmaker and Sombra have the chance, allow them to take it. After all, it’s this obsession of yours that nearly caused Sombra her life today.”

Reaper froze, and went tense again, but only for a split second.

“Widowmaker? Any input? Perhaps I could hear your side of the story?”

“As I was not present when Sombra was injured,” Widowmaker said practically, “I’m afraid I can offer no more valuable insight to the situation, and must simply take Reaper’s word for what happened until Sombra’s condition is stable again and she can tell us herself.”

“Understandable,” the Director sighed, though he sounded disappointed. “There will be opportunities in the future to inflict devastating damage to our enemies. Widowmaker, your performance was above par. Reaper… clean yourself up. I don’t want to have to take drastic measures, as I’m sure you do not either.”

“Understood,” Reaper hissed, clenching his fists. “Permission to be dismissed?”

“I was just going to say it myself.”

The holo-tv turned off, and the lights came back up in the room. No sooner had that happened, Reaper was already wraithing out of the room through the crack in the double doors behind them.

Widowmaker frowned as the last tendrils of smoke evaporated into the air, folding her arms and biting her lip in thought. She tried to piece together what possibly could be altering Reaper’s performance the way it was, but seemed to be coming up short. She didn’t know enough about the man to come to any solid conclusions. Really, most of what she could remember about Reaper before he was Reaper was his smile… his smile, and his name, and little else. If it had something to do with his past, she would have no idea what it could be. Regardless, an intervention was necessary at this point; the Director was clearly losing his patience. Reaper had been reconditioned only once before, and that had been shortly after his temper tantrum upon discovering that Jack Morrison lived. Living with him then had been… rather terrifying, even for Widowmaker. She didn’t care to repeat the situation, especially without Sombra for support.

As she herself left the briefing room, she set her mind to speaking with Reaper later that evening. The man had a set, rigorous schedule-- she knew exactly when he would be retiring to his room for the night, and planned to catch him then. After all, he would need the course of the day to cool off from their call with the Director.

 

* * *

 

 

She intercepted him just before he walked into his room, the both of them casually dressed, save for Reaper’s mask remaining in place. He folded his arms and snarled as she stood partially in the way of the door to his room.

“What?” he snapped, patience clearly still thin.

“Gabriel--” She never used his name from before unless she wanted him to really listen and pay attention, unlike Sombra, who just abused it like she was chummy with him. “-- Gabriel, we need to talk.”

“I don’t need a lecture from you, too.”

“I’m disappointed that’s what you thought I came here for. I thought you knew me better.”

“I don’t know either you or Sombra well,” he confessed with a sneer in his voice. “Can you exactly blame me?”

“I can.” Widowmaker stood straighter, and got directly into Reaper’s space. “And if you do  _ not  _ allow me to speak with you, then this  _ will  _ turn into a lecture.”

“And what was it supposed to be before?”

“Questions, mostly, but also I want to find out what is going on and how to keep you from going back into reconditioning. Can you exactly  _ blame _ me?”

That gave Reaper pause, and his stiffly folded arms relaxed somewhat. “... Ugh… fine. Come in, but make it quick.”

Widowmaker smirked slightly, pleased with herself at being allowed entrance more easily than usual. Something must have seriously been messing with Reaper for him to give in so easily.

Reaper let the door slide open, and gestured for Widowmaker to enter first. She did, and he quickly closed the door behind them. It was… bland. Very bland. Not that she hadn’t seen it before, but it still took her off guard. White walls. White floor. A lone, single desk with one computer. A bed. A bathroom to the right. Just like her and Sombra’s rooms, only they had a few decorations. Reaper had nothing. There were a few claw marks in the wall, but nothing more.

The guitar was new, though. Her eye was immediately drawn to it as he sat down on the bed with the black sheets, and hummed in interest.

“Finally allowing yourself the small pleasures in life?” Widowmaker teased. Reaper grunted and looked away, leaned forwards with his arms on his knees.

“Just tell me what you want,” he muttered.

Widowmaker changed her stance a little.

“... I’m worried about you.”

“Bulllshit,” Reaper spat.

“I am. You are unlike yourself lately.” She took a small step forwards. “I want to know if something is wrong, and if there is something I can do to help.”

“You  _ can’t  _ do anything,” Reaper spat again, shifting back on his bed, but it was obvious even with the mask on that he wasn’t making eye contact with Widowmaker. “I’ll be better once 76 is dead. Or maybe better, captured and tortured.”

“So it has something to do with him, then?”

“What do  _ you _ think?!” Reaper stood up and began to pace, smoke blooming from his shoulders. “It has  _ everything  _ to do with 76, Widow.  _ Everything _ .”

“More than the explosion?”

He stopped. She continued.

“Upon discovering that Morrison lived, you were sent into a rage and a frenzy. Afterwards, you were fine. This is new, Reaper. This only began this week. And this is dangerous. It almost got Sombra killed, and you, too. There is something more to this, isn’t there?”

“So what if there is?” Reaper didn’t turn around to face Widowmaker.

“If there is…” she paused. She hadn’t thought this far. “If there is, you… can tell me. Vent, I suppose. I will not judge you, and I will not tell anyone. And Sombra cannot hack word of mouth, as much as she wishes she could. Or, if you do not wish to talk, I am willing to try anything else you suggest. I am worried because we both know the pain of reconditioning. I want to prevent you from going back.” As much as they disagreed and bickered, they both could connect on their hatred of reconditioning.

Reaper’s breaths came heavy. Reaper had been reconditioned once.

Widowmaker had lost count.

“... I’ll be fine,” he murmured, sitting back down on the bed and folding in on himself.

“Will you be?”

Reaper was still. His head dropped a little more then.

And then he began to shake.

“... Tonight…” He gulped. “Tonight is… important. And not in a good way. The anniversary of something I wish I could permanently purge from my mind, but…”

Widowmaker tilted her head in confusion as Reaper’s head started rocking back and forth, as if pseudo-mimicking hitting it into a wall. She came to kneel before him, but he shook his head and patted the bed instead. As she took her seat next to him, he held his arms close to himself tightly, trying to stop the shaking.

“... it’s difficult to… get the words out.” And it must have been true; his voice sounded sticky and thick.

“Only say what you want to, or can,” Widowmaker urged him, keeping her hands to herself for now. It had been many, many years since she had offered up any physical comfort; she didn’t know if she could provide anything good to the man, if he wanted anything at all. “It will stay completely between us.”

Reaper’s shaking decreased a little, and he took a huge, trembling breath.

“I was… 76-- Morrison, he… didn’t like me having a mind of my own, when it came to Blackwatch or defying stupid orders from him. Didn’t like that I wouldn’t just bow down to him and the UN and their ridiculous orders. One night we got in a fight. It wasn’t anything new. We had lots of them. But then he… he overpowered me, tied me down and tore off my clothes and…”

He made a pained sound and glanced away, and Widowmaker didn’t need to hear the word to know. It was now common knowledge in the world that Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes had been romantically involved, the information having come out after Overwatch’s fall and many Overwatch member’s personal and private information became suddenly public. But Jack Morrison forcing himself on Gabriel… that information was nowhere to be found. There was also a clear, defining date where afterwards, their hostility towards each other increased tenfold, without rhyme or reason.

“That explains more of it,” she murmured, leaning forwards a little to try to catch Reaper’s gaze, hidden as it may have been by the mask.

“You know?”

“I know,” she confirmed. “And did you ever tell anyone?”

Reaper shook his head. “No one ever knew. He didn’t do it again, but whenever I catch him alone… when it’s just the two of us and it seems like he might get the upper hand, I--” He choked up. “I-- I don’t know if… I don’t know if he’ll just kill me or… or try again.”

Hearing Reaper sounding so vulnerable made Widowmaker uncomfortable, but at the same time, so many pieces were clicking together  _ because  _ of it, and this new information. Most of her emotions were quelled to a point that she barely felt them, but Reaper still seemed to be wracked with grief and terror about something that happened probably over ten years ago. Finding out that Morrison lived probably didn’t help him at all. It probably increased his fear of a repeat occurrence, and also explained his deep seated hatred and absolute  _ need  _ to be Morrison’s killer, or the one to take him down or bring him in.

It wasn’t just about jealousy and spite. It was about reclaiming his life. It was about reclaiming  _ himself _ .

Sometime when she had been lost in her thoughts, Reaper had taken a moment to recompose himself. He sat up straighter, and his shoulders and breath shook less.

“I don’t care what his MO is now,” Reaper said quietly, clenching his fists in his lap. “I don’t care if he’s trying to be some soul reborn anew, or repent for his sins. Men like him who have done what he did deserve nothing less than the purest agony. The fall of Overwatch was a good start; I’m sure it tore him apart from the inside out. But he’s still  _ here _ , Widow. He’s still kicking. Fighting. For what, I don’t know, but he has to be stopped for… who knows if he’s hurt someone else the way he hurt me. And even if not--”

“I understand,” Widowmaker soothed him, voice soft even as his started to rise. Smoke bloomed from his shoulders in waves, and tentatively, she placed a hand on one. Reaper instantly tensed, but also instantly relaxed. His entire body shivered. “I understand.”

In the next moment, something strange happened. The smoke output from Reaper’s body increased, but he completely relaxed. Every part of him went limp, and he slumped forwards, as if suddenly asleep. Confused, and yet somewhat encouraged by this, Widowmaker’s hand on his shoulder moved slowly to his back, before beginning to rub hesitant circles into it. He shivered again at the soothing, methodic touch.

“Reaper,” she continued softly, “we have to work  _ together  _ to take down Overwatch, and Soldier: 76. He has a team behind his back. You cannot expect to take him down without a team behind  _ you _ , either. Of course we will always allow you the last blow, but in the meantime, you must be vigilant. You must be aware of your surroundings and you must follow your plans. You must be diligent and powerful, or you may never get your revenge at all. You cannot let these thoughts consume you out there on the battlefield. If you feel you must request the time off, the Director should grant it to you without much question. I understand that it must be difficult for you lately, but you shouldn’t put everyone else in danger because of it.”

“I know.” He didn’t snap. He sounded resigned.

Silence was their conversation for a long while after that. Widowmaker continued to rub his back, and more and more tension seemed to bleed out of Reaper as she did so. Soon, barely any smoke was pluming off of him, and had his breathing been any slower or deeper, she could have assumed he was asleep.

“Now,” she said again, breaking the silence, “is there anything else I can offer you? Perhaps some tea?”

Reaper didn’t seem to know what to say. He turned his head towards her several times without saying anything, before he reached up and pulled back his hoodie and removed his mask.

It wasn’t the first time Widowmaker had seen him without his mask-- she always called him Gabriel when the mask came off though-- but it still made her stomach churn with unease to see what the years had done to him. Those moon-white, bloodshot eyes, staring at nothing, useless without his mask. The jagged tear in his right cheek, the missing skin beneath his eyelid. The burns all over the left side of his face, the chunk missing from his nose. It all looked deeply painful, even years later.

Gabriel clasped his hands together in his lap, before looking in Widowmaker’s general direction. “You don’t have to do anything more.”

“But you want something.” Widowmaker knew it; he didn’t take off his mask unless he was serious about what he was going to say. “And, barring sex from the equation, I will give it to you.”

Gabriel fiddled with his fingers, and then, very softly, he murmured, “... just… stay. I don’t want to be alone. Even with the lights on, the… the shadows cling to me.”

And then, miraculously, he somehow made eye contact with Widowmaker. Something in her mind flashed back to once vivid russet eyes, smiling and crinkled with age, and boisterous, pure laughter. And something in her chest thudded.

And then she was back to staring at moon white, blind eyes, tired and worn and dead, and the thudding grew louder and harder. Painful.

“I will stay,” she said. She kicked off her shoes and moved behind Gabriel, towards the top of his bed. Widowmaker snatched up his pillow, and placed it in her lap. “Come. Lay here,” she insisted.

Gabriel complied, throwing his hoodie over his head and leaving his chest bare. He pulled the covers over himself before resting his head on the pillow and Widowmaker’s lap. He jolted in surprise when small, nimble and dexterous fingers tangled into his hair, and began scratching gently through the untamed curls on his head.

For a while, there was just more silence. Even as Gabriel started to shake, neither of them said anything; his head was turned away from her, but she wasn’t looking down anyways, simply scratching and carding her fingers over his warm scalp and through his muddy brown hair.

Then, there was a small, quiet, and hoarse, “You did want children, Amélie.”

She paused, but only briefly, before continuing her motions from before. “What?”

“Before Talon. Before you were Widowmaker. Earlier today you said you never wanted children. You did.”

“Then why did I never have any?”

Gabriel went soft as a kitten.

“... you lost her.”

Only then did Widowmaker tense.

“Lost… her?”

“Miscarriage. You never tried again.”

The thudding in her heart returned, the faintest distress signals firing off in the back of her head. “And you tell me this why?”

“Because I remember,” Gabriel said simply. “I don’t know. I thought maybe… sometimes I wonder if maybe… you want to remember?”

“Memories cause pain,” she replied coldly. “I am better without them.”

“But you’re not  _ you _ .”

She had no reply to that.


End file.
